NOT EXACTLY SURE what we’d be getting into while in Seattle, I packed a few different outfits to accommodate for various outings. For dinner tonight, I decide to wear the charcoal gray, cashmere sweater-dress that dad bought me for Christmas. I’d seen it in a catalogue, and he happened to be around at the time, so I mentioned that I liked it. He’s great at remembering stuff like that, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I unwrapped it Christmas morning—but I was.
The long sleeves fit tightly around my arms, while the rest of the dress drapes loosely around my body. It’s short, the hem of the front and the back coming to a point that stops at my knees, while the sides are raised to reveal the lower half of my thighs. I don’t wear tights, in spite of the cold weather, but pull on my warm, wool, knee-high, boot socks. They’re white, with gray lace around the top. I finish off my outfit with my tall, brown leather boots, and the necklace Leo gave me for Christmas.
The necklace I now wear every single day, no matter what outfit I’ve got on.
I don’t have the time to curl my hair the way I’d like, but I decide to at least add a little bump to my ends. As soon as I’m finished, I set to work on my makeup—keeping it light, with just a bit of eyeliner and mascara. I’m applying a coat of lip gloss when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Baby, what are you doing in there? We’ve got to go.”
I stop what I’m doing, smiling wildly at my reflection as I let the reality of this moment truly sink in. It feels so normal—my man trying to get me out the door while I’m busy trying to finish my face. It’s silly, really, but I love it.
Twisting the cap onto my lip gloss, I call out, “Be out in a sec!”
I’m finished, but I stand and make him wait anyway, feeling positively giddy about it. It isn’t until I open the door that I regret having made him wait. One look at the man who stands on the other side of the threshold and it’s obvious the joke is on me.
He’s in a pair of worn, redish-brown leather, casual boots, his fitted dark washed jeans cuffed at the ankle. The button-up shirt he wears is pale blue—making his eyes look more blue than green—and the way it hugs his broad shoulders and thick arms is enough to make my knees weak. He’s got the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his collar is left undone. I swallow loudly when my eyes finally meet his.
His perusal of me seems to come to an end at the same time as mine does, only it appears as though his assessment of my attire has left him displeased. Scowling at me, he mumbles, “You and those damn legs.”
“What?” I squeak out, looking down at my legs before meeting his darkened eyes once more.
“Fourth of July weekend—those khaki shorts. The wedding—with those heels. That fucking Halloween costume. One would think I could get you to cover those damn things up in the dead of winter. “
Narrowing my eyes at him in confusion, I ask, “Wait, are you saying—?”
He cuts me off, bending just enough to pull me against him, the palm of his hand holding one of my ass cheeks as he mutters, “I’m saying they’re mine, Jill.”
I try so hard not to laugh, but I can’t help myself. His scowl deepens, but I ignore it, circling my arms around his neck and holding on tight as I tell him, “You are such a caveman.” He grunts his response, making me giggle before I say, “Kiss me, Lee.”
He does as I request without protest, keeping it short before he steps away from me, reminding me that we’ve got someplace to be. The sound that spills from my mouth might be a whine, but I gather my coat and my purse and meet him at the door anyway.
Honestly, we could probably use some fresh air and a few hours away from the room—not to mention food! We were up until sunrise, making up for lost time, and then we slept the morning away. When we woke up in the early afternoon, food wasn’t exactly at the forefront of either of our minds. It didn’t take much for us to get lost in each other, and before we knew it, the sun was on its way down. Now, as we walk hand in hand through the hotel lobby, I’m finally conscious of just how hungry I really am.
As we walk by the lobby’s front entrance, headed to the hotel bar—where we’re supposed to meet up with Corie and Ashley—I notice a bunch of people with cameras casually hanging out along the sidewalk. Leo notices them, too, and mutters a curse under his breath.
“They’re here for Ashley, huh?”
“Yeah. Which means someone leaked his whereabouts.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“For the right price.”
He guides me through the dining room and straight to the bar, pulling out a stool for me. As I take a seat, he takes out his phone to call Ashley. It’s Leo’s idea to go out through the back, instructing the car to meet us in the loading dock; but by the time he’s voiced his plan, Ashley and Corie are already making their way into the bar, so we decide to face the paparazzi instead.
This time, as we make our way outside, Leo doesn’t leave me with Corie. He clamps his hand around mine, keeping me close as he makes way for the rock star and his backwoods belle. When we reach the Bentley limo provided by the hotel for Ashley’s use, Leo silently instructs me to get in. I assume he’ll take his seat up front with the driver, like he usually does when he’s on duty, which is why I’m pleasantly surprised when he takes the seat beside me, facing Ashley. It’s Frank who closes us in before occupying the front passenger seat.
“Damn, Jill,” Ashley starts to say in his deep, southern drawl, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “You got him to sit in the backseat. He never sits in the back seat. I think he might like you.”
I smile at my man, leaning into him as I wrap my arms around his bicep. “You might be right,” I say teasingly. Leo looks over at me, resting a hand on my knee, and my smile turns into a grin. As I press into him even closer, lowering my voice so that only he can hear me, I tell him, “Or maybe you’ve just got a thing for my legs.”
He smirks at me, his big, warm hand giving my knee a squeeze. That one touch—that one, gentle, endearing touch—it means the world to me. I won’t deny that I’ve loved every minute that we’ve spent naked together in the last several hours, but there’s something about just having him next to me that I now know not to take for granted. And for the dozenth time since the clock struck midnight, I declare that this is the best birthday ever.
DINNER IS AMAZING. Ashley picked the restaurant, having been there before, and we spend a couple of hours at The Brooklyn, enjoying the most fabulous meal. Given that it’s my birthday, and I’ve spent all afternoon working up a monstrous appetite, I indulge in a few things—the creamiest clam chowder, the most delicious crab cakes, and lobster ravioli that is to die for. I drink too much wine, and laugh too loud, but every time I look over at Leo and find him watching me—his gaze one that can only be described as completely possessive—I’m reassured that I’m not being a bother. I’m having a good time with a few of my favorite people, and I couldn’t ask for more.
It’s a little after ten when we pull up in front of the hotel. I’m still drunk, and with the paparazzi crowding our vehicle, I’m nervous to get out. The last thing I want to do is make a fool of myself in front of all these people. Granted, I know it’s not my face they’re trying to capture, but still.
“My Lee?” I murmur, grabbing hold of his arm before he can reach for the door handle. He looks back at me, a silent question expressed on his face, and I cling to him as I beg, “Don’t let me fall.”
His eyes dance around my face a moment before he grunts, “Stay here. I’ll be back for you.”
I nod, and he opens the door, stepping outside. The cameras start flashing almost immediately, and I look across from me as Ashley and Corie get ready to make their exit.
“Happy birthday, darlin’,” says Ashley with a wink before following after Leo.
Corie, who had just as much wine as I did, leans over and kisses my cheek before she mutters, “See you tomorrow! We’ll leave at eleven. Get some sleep.” She says the words and then smiles knowingly before she adds, “Or not.”
“Sweetheart?” Ashley calls out, his hand reaching back into the limo.
“Coming, honey!”
They take their leave, shutting me inside the vehicle, and I wait only a couple of minutes before Leo returns. He helps me out, and I cling to his arm, using him to help keep me steady. With Ashley and Corie already inside, the paparazzi aren’t quite so gung-ho about snapping my picture, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that a couple capture an image or two. I can’t understand why they would, but I don’t think on it. Relieved to be inside and out of the cold, I let my mind wander to what I’ll likely be up to for the rest of the night.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Leo stops walking abruptly, causing me to stumble. His grip around my hand tightens, and I look up at him in confusion before I follow his gaze. He’s staring at a woman who is standing across the lobby. She approaches us slowly, her eyes darting back and forth between Leo and me, and I can’t help but notice how she fidgets with her hands.
A low growl rumbles from Leo’s chest, and I frown up at him, totally at a loss as to what’s going on—that is, until the woman speaks.
“Leonardo, please…”
My head snaps back in her direction, surprised by the way she addresses him. Of course, it makes sense that his full name is Leonardo, but I never thought about it before. Nobody ever calls him that. Ever.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Leo asks, his voice dark and gravely, dripping with venom. “How did you find me?”
“It’s kind of hard to keep a low profile when you work for someone so famous. Your father…”
She keeps talking, but I don’t hear a word she says, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as I finally understand who this woman is. I stare at her, remembering the one and only thing Leo has ever told me about her—that she was weak. To be honest, she doesn’t carry herself with an ounce of confidence. She looks slightly disheveled, but only because her clothes are too big for her; and she looks like she hasn’t had a good night’s rest in a while. Other than that, I can see that she was once a beautiful young woman.
“I have nothing for you,” I hear Leo say as I tune back into the conversation.
“You don’t understand,” she starts to argue, taking another step toward us.
“Don’t give me that shit,” Leo spits, his grip around my hand so tight, I’m sure it’ll be numb any second now. “I said I was done. I’m fucking done.”
Her pleading eyes, filled with so much sadness and desperation, look to me, and Leo growls again.
“Don’t look at her,” he demands.
She doesn’t heed his command, her eyes locking with mine, as if she’s trying to beseech my help. In an instant, Leo has shoved me behind him. The next thing I know, he’s leaning toward his mother, his voice so soft it’s scary as he demands, “Keep your fucking eyes off my woman.”
“When will you stop punishing us? We’re family, Leonardo—you can’t change that. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t—”
I gasp when he closes the distance between them. She’s taller than me, but I’m convinced nobody is taller than Leo—and he’s easily double her weight. Nevertheless, she doesn’t back away as he stands looking down at her and mutters, “Fuck you. Fuck him, too.”
Never having seen him this angry before, I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t do something. Even in my tipsy state, I’m aware enough to remember that there are more than a dozen photographers right outside. If this argument turns into an even bigger scene, who knows what could happen?
I don’t know what’s going on—I don’t know what history could possibly exist between these two for him to speak to his mother in such a way—but I don’t worry about that right now. All I care about is Leo. All I want is to get him away from this situation and make sure that he’s all right. I don’t even give it a second thought before I reach out and touch his back. I see it as his body locks up at my touch, but he doesn’t look back at me.
Taking it one step further, I circle my arms around his waist, pressing a kiss against his back before I murmur, “Lee? Can we just go? Please?”
He doesn’t move at first. When he reaches for my hands, prying them away from his body, I’m afraid he’s shoving me off of him. He proves me wrong as he passes my right hand from his right to his left. Gripping my fingers, he tugs me a couple steps away from his mother before he stops.
Turning only his head, he looks back at her and grumbles, “Stay the hell away from me.”
I stare down at my feet, willing myself not to look back at the woman. I know what it’s like to have the man at my side walk away from me, but he’s never talked to me the way he’s talking to her. I can’t imagine what that feels like, and I don’t ever want to find out.
As he starts to pull me toward the elevators, I lose the fight against my will and I look back at his mother from over my shoulder. I expect to see pain in her eyes, but that’s not what I see. Instead, she stares after us with a hollow, cold expression. It frightens me, and I grip Leo’s hand tighter.
When he squeezes my hand in return, I shift my gaze up at him. His expression isn’t cold at all. It’s heated. It’s angry, and something tells me there’s only one way he’ll be able to release his rage—and I’m ready. For him, I’ll always be ready.